Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Mary Oliver "The Summer Day"


I think that this poem is a sign.

I don’t believe that I should be working today. I should be outside in the gorgeous rain, in the humidity that is permeating the place where I live. I should be looking for grasshoppers. Or just reading. Just letting the rain soak my shirt, then sleep in its warmth.

Poem: "The Summer Day" by Mary Oliver, from House of Light. © Beacon Press, 1992. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

The Summer Day

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean—

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life? 

1 comment:

KATE EVANS said...

Mary Oliver. Love her. Thanks.